the good, the bad and the ugly

I had my first official experience of the rougher side of the city last night at the Pav. After recieving my fair share of bumps on the dance floor, I turned around to see who was so insistent on violating my space--of which, I realize, is very small in a club on the dance floor. Nonetheless, the third time this bafoon knocked into me almost landed me on my face.

I turned around to place a hand on his shoulder to communicate he was practically on top of me, something I've done endless times before and something to which most people respond apologetically me. However, when Ignoramus (or Iggy, as I will call him) turned around, I realized I was dealing with someone so far from "with it" he had practically come full circle to "before it."

Iggy put two hands on me and gave me a little push.
Dumbstruck, awe and incredulousness are only a few of the words that describe my initial reaciton.
But being not a wilting flower, I was quickly aware that this loser was way offside.

"What country am I in?"

I matched his push with a solid shove, one that nearly sent him off his feet. Luckily for him--and me--his friends caught him and made a concerted effort to diffuse the situation.
Though I was soon to find out that Iggy wasn't just your average drunk belligerent, I don't regret engaging in a little brutish activity.

Obviously I'll never fight my way out of any trouble. But if I'm going to get pushed, I might as well push back.

The next twenty minutes were spent watching Iggy pace back and forth through the crowd just in front of me. Eyes locked on me, unblinking and framed by a strong, furrowed brow. His gaze is most accurately described as intense. He wasn't looking for kicks, he wasn't showing off for his friends. His sole intention was intimidation.

He was succesful. I've never been more intimidated in my life. As he took a stand one foot away from me, leaning in and sucking in on his Marlboro, he carefully blew a cloud of smoke into my face--not breaking his gaze, not flinching a muscle. Again his friends arrived on the scene and attempted to corale his aggressive nature whilst he yelled incoherently in my direction.

Dealing with obnoxious drunks is child's play; putting up with persistent creeps is mostly just a cause for irritation, but being intentionally and actively intimidated is something that I've never encountered before. The demonstration of this person's respect for me as an individual and me as a female triggers alarm bells so adamant they cannot go ignored.

We cannot let ourselves be intimidated by others. On the same token, we should not expect ourselves to have to carry protection or fight off belligerent dunks. However, this seems to increasingly be the case. Our conceptions of personal space and safety are being tested often, and on more than one level.

From personal security at a club to national security and how Canadians became instrumental in the military actions in warzones across the world, the question of safety is demanding new answers that will address what seems to have developed into a complicated and diluted idea of basic human rights.

What is most angering about the situation is the chance I take simply by taking a stand for myself. Had I slipped away, or quietly taken a few more stomps from Ignoramus, I probably wouldn't be recording the situation like. But what makes it record-worthy is that standing up for yourself is worth it, in any way, shape or form.